Four season Tales
by Hologram Love
Summary: Their tale began with spring, the new bursts of life. Followed by the scorching heat of summer, the melancholy of autumn and the endearing sense of winter.


Not mine, dearies. We can only wish.

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_Spring_

Hermione Jane Granger hates spring.

Don't get her wrong; she enjoys the burst of life, the end to winter's tedium and the vividness of colour never fails to alleviate her mood. She enjoys walking down a park pathway covered in newly-bloomed vegetation.

New life and bright energy comes with spring, along with pollen afloat in the air.

That bloody, nasty pollen! The vile things that come with spring! They make her nose runny as well as her eyes. For the past seven years she was grateful for the lack of airborne pollen (or pollen in general) in the confines of Hogwarts.

But now she lives in a flat over-looking the wonderful city of London right beside a park infested with timothy grass and ragweed of all plants!

It also doesn't help that she is coexisting with an athletic prat who insists on running around the park, sometimes taking her along or transporting the blasted pollen home with him.

"Bloody hell Harry," grumbled Hermione as she sniffed and attempted to wipe the snot dripping from her nose with a tissue. "Can't you stop bringing in the frigging pollen?!"

The berk had the gut to chuckle and it earned him an angry glare from the allergic victim. He drank gulps of water from a tall glass before wiping the sweat from his neck and his arms.

"Sorry Mione," answered Harry without actually meaning it. He reached over to her to pry her crossed arms open and pulling her into a sweaty embrace.

"Ack!" She yelped, attempting to push him away but being a jock, Harry had the strength of a fully-grown mountain troll (or at least close) and it was impossible for her to push him off of her.

"Harry! My snot is on your shirt!" She yelled against his now-stained shirt.

"S'okay," He said with a grin, pulling her in tighter against him. She had no choice but to relax into his embrace.

When Harry pulled away, Hermione saw her mucous secretions on his shirt and she blushed in embarrassment but he didn't notice or he purposefully ignored it.

"I look like a fright," She mumbled, conjuring another tissue wordlessly with a flourish of her wand before blowing her still-dripping nose.

"Don't say that," Harry berated seriously. "You look lovelier than a bright spring day, love."

Hermione felt her cheeks flush, causing Harry to beam and plant a firm kiss on her forehead before side-stepping her to take his shower.

Hermione still hates spring. But not as much two seconds ago.

_**Summer**_

Again, it is another case of seasonal hatred.

Harry James Potter hates—_despises_ the summer season, more so when he was still living under the Dursley roof, away from his real home for the summer holidays. Being away from his friends and the community he belongs to can simply take its toll.

And now, being an independent and not to mention, strapping young wizard who defeated Moldy-Voldy, Harry can not shake of his hatred towards the summer spell. The stickiness, the humidity, and _everything_ else!

So, as a very irate Harry entered the warmth of the kitchen, feeling his pores relax into what looked like gaping holes tearing at his skin, secreting sweat and body heat, caused his shirt to cling to him like second skin which of course, didn't improve his mood.

With a scowl plastered to his face, Harry walked to the fridge and opened it in hopes of finding a tall pitcher of thoroughly-chilled juice. He spotted the large decanter of pink lemonade, courtesy of his favourite witch to ever grace the planet. Harry poured himself an equally-tall glass and began to gulp the acidic sweetness like a man in an arid region.

"I'm glad you love the lemonade Harry," His relieved mind registered someone commenting wryly. He turned towards the witch who just treated him with a smile. She was wearing her pajamas, a sight Harry still can't get used to, seeing as how disheveled, tousled and _sexy _she looked with her light blue tank top and chintzy-looking pajama bottoms.

"Thanks for the lemonade, Hermione." Harry said.

"Not a problem," She replied distractedly, taking his glass as her own and drinking the cool fluid down. Harry can't help but watch as Hermione's lips met the glass he just utilized, watch as the lemonade made contact with her lips, her tongue darting out to taste before indulging herself with its sweetness. Harry found himself silently praying to be the lemonade, to be the glass, to be _**anything**_to be simply in contact with her lips.

"Harry?" Hermione's voice brought him out of his fantasizing. She was now hovering over him with a concerned look creasing her brow. "Are you alright?"

"Yes," He croaked dryly. Harry cleared his throat before thinking about Dumbledore dancing the Macarena naked. He suppressed a shudder and looked up at Hermione's questioning gaze.

"I'm alright Hermione," He reassured her again. Just feeling quite randy today, he added as an afterthought.

"Must I inform you that I've been your best friend for ten years and faced death with you more than once that I'm sure I can tell something is pretty much wrong with you?" Hermione asked haughtily, her stare was challenging. Normally it would make Harry want to petrify her and make a mad dash for Mexico to save his head from rolling but this time, he did want to petrify her, but to take her to bed, cast some Cooling Charms (in case his passion might set the world on fire) and ravish her all weekend long.

"No, there's no need to inform me that," Harry replied with a wry smile before patting her thigh. "I am reasonably aware of the divine providence that made me think of you when that troll was about to kill you."

Hermione laughed. Bloody hell she laughed, he thought, feeling his insides squelch pleasantly. Her laugh always made him laugh; much like her pain is his pain and her endeavors are his to take on as well.

"Well then, tell me what's bothering you?"

I want to sex you up. All night.

Harry noticed Hermione's lovely hazel eyes widen almost like Dobby's, a wild tinge of red rush to her cheeks and her fidgeting and biting of her lip told him all he needed to know.

He said the words _out loud._

In his mind's eye, Harry held his wand up to his forehead and cried the Killing Curse over and over again, in desperate hopes that he would drop dead in the kitchen of the flat he and Hermione shared. But sadly, his wand was in his room on his bedside table and he is not so adept in wandless magic. He was also thinking that why did he have to quote a 90s song, of all songs, and why does he even _know_ that song?!

"I—Err…"

"Do you really want to?" She asked meekly, and he almost rolled his eyes at the palpable answer.

"Hermione," Harry stated sternly, as if her name was a testimony of her existence and her trust with him. "I wouldn't make a reference to a 90s song if I'm not serious."

She said nothing but took his hand in hers and silently led the way to her bedroom. The sound of two bodies falling down a soft bed followed by good-natured, hysterical giggling could be heard from outside the room.

Even though it was the middle of the day, Harry was true to his statement that led him pinning Hermione down her bed. He did sex her up. All afternoon and all night.

_**Autumn**_

What is the best season ever?

If you asked the Golden Trio, two out of three would reply with "autumn, of course." (Whilst the other would roll his eyes and answer with "summer!")

If you asked the pair as to why, they have one answer.

"It's in the pumpkin pie."

But in reality, it's more than the pie. It's more than the mild cinnamon flavour, the hints of nutmeg and the pleasant aroma of the pumpkin itself. It's more of the story behind it.

During one blustery day near the end of October, Harry and Hermione were visiting The Burrow for the weekly Sunday family lunches. The two surrogates were sandwiched between the Weasley twins surrounding the table that was groaning with the shitloads of food the Weasley matriarch had prepared.

In time for dessert, Harry searched the table for the one dessert he eats with no fail after every Weasley meal. He spotted the rhubarb pie, the peach crumble, even the chocolate éclairs that Fleur had prepared but he can't find his pumpkin pie.

"Something wrong, Harry dear?" Molly questioned, seeing as he hasn't served himself any sugary confection yet.

"Oh, it's nothing Mrs. Weasley." He replied with a small smile before getting up and entering the kitchen in hope of unearthing the pie.

"Looking for this?" He heard the all-too familiar voice behind him. He spun around to spot Hermione leaning against the doorframe, the brownish-orange custard on top of the pie crust simply made him drool.

"Did you take it?" Harry asked incredulously as he watched Hermione strut across the kitchen towards him. She said nothing but gently placed the pie on the counter beside him before looking up at him with certainty beneath her long eyelashes.

"Why is it that you love pumpkin pies so much?" Hermione asked him, the chatter and the buzz from the Weasleys was a mere noise behind his consciousness. All he was aware of is the innocent-yet-seductive looking witch before him, armed with pumpkin pie.

"There's no valid reason," Harry answered. "It's one of the best-tasting foods that I ever ate and the first dessert I had at Hogwarts."

Hermione's eyes softened at the small confession. "Then you have quite a valid reason there, don't you think so?"

Harry merely shrugged and eyed the confection with a hungry glint in his eyes. "Would you like to share one with me?"

"I would be delighted," She replied with a smile before watching him cut a fairly-large piece and opening her lips to welcome the fork he brought up to her lips. Harry watched her chew in a deliberate fashion before eating a piece himself. They gazed into the other's eyes, slowly masticating the dessert. Hermione swallowed, followed by Harry.

Before anything else happened, before one of them realized what was occurring, Harry leaned his head down to Hermione's unknowingly-waiting lips. Her softness did not go unnoticed by him, her sweetness made his intestines melt and dance graciously inside him. She tasted like pumpkin, and it was one type of heaven for the Boy-who-Lived.

Harry felt her arms surround his neck and she pulled away with a smile.

"Was that a much more valid reason for you?" She whispered, the warmth of her breath tattooed into his skin, sending tingles of excitement through his veins. The scent of her exhalation, of the applied spices washed over him like a maelstrom of affection for the woman in his arms.

"Quite," He answered with a smile.

Oh yes, autumn is at its best, as long as there is pumpkin pie.

_**Winter**_

"Ronald Billius Weasley, you sodding prat!"

That was Hermione, in case any of you were wondering. From an outsider's point of view, she looked perfectly fine, standing in between the doorway, hands poised petulantly on her hips with an aura of bossiness. Upon closer inspection, the witch was attempting to lift her foot, only to be stuck on the hardwood floor.

"Calm down, Hermione!" The red-headed prat called with an amused smirk, cradling a mug of eggnog and eating tree-shaped cookies directly off the baking tray. "It's just mistletoe, you know, tradition?"

"We're not Scandinavians, Ron." Harry said from the living room, carrying his own mug of eggnog and another one for her.

"How did you know that?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

"I read too, you know."

Ron rolled his eyes at the pair. "Would you just snog Hermione?"

"Won't the customary 'peck-on-the-cheek' suffice?" Harry asked weakly.

"It's a Weasley product, what do you expect?" Hermione muttered. "And being a Weasley surrogate, they would never hold back on us. Honestly Harry, you should know these things by now."

"Should we ditch the Weasels and run off to Tahiti together?" He asked cheekily, prodding Hermione's side, causing her to choke in mid-sip.

"Let's," She agreed.

"Stop flirting and snog! This is getting monotonous!"

"Utilizing big words, Ron? Careful, you might overexert yourself." Hermione commented.

"Sod off," He replied with a cheery grin. "Better hurry up Harry, the mistletoe is bound to explode in a minute or two, and the victim must remain lip-locked for at least one."

Harry sighed and handed his and Hermione's cups to Ron before licking his lips. Whether it was in anticipation or anxiousness, Hermione doesn't care to find out. He stepped in front of her and grabbed her by the hips. They stared at each other, not noticing a triumphant Ron slip away to give them privacy.

Slowly, Harry bent forward and met her lips with his own in a gentle manner. He subconsciously felt Hermione lift her arms to wrap around his collar. Her nimble fingers played with the sparse hairs on his neck, sending shockwaves of goose flesh to pulse throughout his body. He pulled her closer to him, causing their pelvis to bump and grind. A gasp of breath escaped her and he took advantage of her parted lips to invade her mouth with his tongue.

Her orifice tasted like eggnog and what seemed to be peppermint. Harry savored her flavour, his tongue rubbing hers bodily. Hermione let out a pleading whimper, her fingers catching at the knots in his hair. There was a jolt of relaxing pain as Harry lifted the hem of her shirt to feel the soft skin beneath.

Unknown to the pair, the mistletoe had long disintegrated. Without a thought, Harry pressed the witch to the nearest wall, pinning her arms above her head as he nipped at her lips, her jaw and her neck.

"H-Harry," She moaned, squirming underneath his oral ministrations to her skin. He grunted something incoherent, catching her earlobe between his teeth; scraping it against the lobe and sucking it gently.

Harry stopped abruptly to meet her clouded eyes. His hair was messier, his glasses askew and his lips were slightly chapped, and their breathing was heavy yet in unison with each other.

"D-did I get too carried away?" He murmured against her chocolate hair. He felt her shake his head and their hands snaked together in a mutual understanding.

"As much as that kiss was heady," began Hermione thickly. "I still prefer our pumpkin pie kisses."

"Indeed," Harry agreed. They turned their heads towards the window to see the snow beginning to fall.

"Oh look, snow!" Hermione squealed, leaving the comfort of Harry's arms around her waist to watch the light snowflakes float in the air and land amiably on the paved ground covered with a thin sheet of ice.

"Apparently the atmosphere found our kisses too hot that it began to snow," Harry commented with an amused grin. His statement was ignored by her however, as he sat on the couch beside her.

"Hermione?"  
"Yes?"  
"Wujumerme?"

She turned her head to look at him in disbelief. "I beg your pardon?"

Harry took a deep calming breath (that didn't do anything!) and took out a black velvet box from his breast pocket. He popped it open and inside was a simple platinum ring with intricate vines engraved upon it. Upon closer examination, the vines looked like the pattern of vines on Hermione's wand.

"Would you marry me?" Harry repeated, more coherently this time. He managed to say it evenly despite the thunderous palpitating of his heart.

"Of course, you brilliant man!" Hermione screamed before jumping on him in full force, beating the wind out of her new fiancé, planting sloppy, wet kisses all over his face and even his glasses.

"Oof, geroff for a second!" Harry yelped, pushing her away, wiping her slobber off his face. He blinked a few times only to grin at the imprint on his glasses.

"You have some sexy lips there, dear." He remarked, slipping the ring from the box and inserting it in Hermione's awaiting finger. Her hands were trembling as she felt the unfamiliar weight of the ring on her hand. Harry's emerald eyes bore into her cinnamon ones as he touched his lips with the cold ring on her hand.

"I love you," Hermione sighed dreamily.

"I love you more," He countered before pulling her in for an embrace.

The couple cuddled on the loveseat when Ron entered the sitting room with a handful of cookies, as well as a mouthful.

"Whuhapnd?" He asked before chewing and swallowing.

Hermione said nothing about his utter lack of manners as she lifted her hand to reveal her new ring that symbolized her ancient devotion to the man holding her in his arms at the very moment.

"Do you think we should incorporate the mistletoe in our lives permanently if it would make things like these happen?" Ron asked with a grin.

"There's no need," Harry said with a content smile.

"Let me at least say 'I told you so' and 'It's about time'."

"Go right ahead."

"It's not as enjoying if you'd let me," Ron muttered before leaving the duo to bask in the glory of their engagement.

And so Harry and Hermione's first four-season tale ended with a proposition. To have the other in all their accomplishments as support and equal, to face the world's trials hand in hand and to shower each other with their love. It is certainly not their last tale, but only the establishment of more to come.

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**Authors strive on reviews. So do I.**


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